Think Before You Speak

by D. A. Bale

  Okay, sometimes it does backfire, especially if you’re under a time crunch – and again, if your date is Nick. To speed things up, you can always go back to stroking something else if there’s chemistry.

  And yes, I meant it dirty that time.

  Ricardo acknowledged my comment with a wave of his cigar. “For someone from such humble beginnings, it is good to show others that hard work pays off.”

  “The beautiful mahogany paneling,” I started as I rose and paced the study for something to do besides sit in fear. It also gave me a head start if I needed to make a quick escape. “The elaborate stairwell in the foyer. And if I’m not mistaken, the runner in the hallway is Persian, yes?”

  A hint of a smile. “Your cultured upbringing serves you well.”

  “But I’m curious,” I continued. “You strike me as more of a stone manor kind of man. Big. Strong. Why the delicate Victorian?”

  The hard glint in his eyes tempered the smile. Crap – had I stepped in it already? How long did Mr. Tall Dark and Scary say those codicils lasted?

  “This is only one of my homes,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “I built it for my mamita.”

  Throughout our conversation, he’d covered his accent well. Probably had years of training to temper it. But the mention of his mother dropped the façade faster than a cold front in January, and the temperature in the room chilled. ‘Course that might have more to do with the vent grate hidden among the wood grain and blowing cold air up my shorts.

  “As I said, it is a lovely home.” But no amount of sucking up could correct my off-course steering.

  Mr. Ricardo rose. “Why did you wish to see me?”

  Direct and to the point. Might as well approach him in kind. Most businessmen preferred it in the long run anyway.

  “A long-ago mutual acquaintance has rehabilitated his life,” I offered. “Much like you have yours.”

  The derisive snort indicated my veil of flattery was thin to obvious. “Reggie Brown. Or do you call him Reginald von Braun, too?”

  The revelation silenced me for a moment as I struggled to drag my jaw off the floor. “You know?”

  “Of course, I know. Known since the flaming tart returned from New York and opened his little decorating business. Did a respectable job on this place too, I might add.”

  The brakes in my brain screeched to a stop so fast, I was sure smoke tendrils rose from my ears. “Wait, wait, wait. He did the interior design here? For your mother?”

  “He is the premier decorator in the region, and my mamita deserved the best,” Ricardo said. “However, my attorney handled the details, because if he’d even seen my name, Reggie would’ve turned tail and returned to New York like the coward he is.”

  Okay, so at least he wasn’t aware that Reggie only pretended to be gay. No need to bring that up and stir the kettle further. “So if you’ve known all this time, why blackmail him now?”

  “Blackmail?” he thundered before taking another puff of his cigar then stubbing it out in an ashtray. “Tomas Ricardo would never stoop to blackmail. I have no need for small change.”

  I guess the saying there’s no honor among thieves was a misnomer – and I’d just offended one of the big ones by accusing him of blackmail. Scratch another name off the list. Maybe.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Ricardo,” I said in my most placating tone. “But I simply needed to make sure it wasn’t you going after Reggie because of any…prior connections. This has simply devastated him at the worst possible time.”

  A curt nod acknowledged my apology like a gentleman who’d spent years learning the ropes of elite circles so as to better move among them. Too big to resort to blackmail? Yeah, I wasn’t so sure. Perhaps not monetary blackmail, but definitely one to hold information over someone’s head to get them to dance to a new tune. I’d learned firsthand how that worked watching the sperm donor move in the corporate world. And the religious realm. Why not in the criminal?

  Hmm. Shake hands and grease palms. Seemed there was little separating any enterprises these days.

  “So little Reggie’s in trouble, is he?” Mr. Ricardo mused. “And asked you to help after your previous success.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it a success. More of…”

  “Perhaps my network could discover the culprit for you, Miss Bohanan,” Ricardo interrupted. “After all, a woman of your background and reputation should be more careful about rubbing shoulders with the seedy underbelly of this city.”

  Please tell me that wasn’t a threat. There was no way I was gonna place myself in Ricardo’s debt – no matter how innocent the goods he distributed. No way, no how, and a big hell-to-the-no.

  A glance at the clock informed me I was mere moments away from seeing the Vette play the accordion. I just hoped my phone, Janine’s phone, and the dashboard time display were synchronized so Janine didn’t get confused and jump the gun.

  Hey, the girl is smart, but there’s something to be said for the impact of nerves on reaction time. One of the reasons why firearms training focused on hitting a target in center mass instead of aiming for something smaller like a hand, leg, or even the head.

  “You’ve been gracious with your time, but you’ve told me all I needed to know,” I said inching my way toward the door.

  I missed the air vent right away as a trickle of fear oozed down my spine. The opportunity to escape loomed before me – and the chance to save my baby car from sure destruction.

  In two strides, Ricardo stood before me with his hand on the doorknob. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bohanan. I hope we have the opportunity to see one another again.”

  Sure, like when the Cleveland Browns win the Super Bowl.

  ***

  To get away as swiftly as possible, I didn’t waste time switching seats and instead told Janine drive to her house where I’d take over. I just had to remind her to wait for the gates of the compound to open before driving through them. We were both in a rather silent state of shock to escape a goods distributer’s property unscathed.

  Seeing Seth there and then meeting an obviously successful gang leader, I had far too much to contemplate on the drive to the De’Laruse mansion to waste time on small talk. At least by the time I dropped off my best friend, my hands were no longer shaking.

  So instead of imagining how close I’d come to being ground into chicken liver pâté, I chose to spend the drive to my place in classic avoidance. Rock music bellowed from the Vette’s speaker system, the pounding percussion and guitar riffs hammering my skull to drive away the chills and thrills of toeing the line of the law. If Zeke could see me now.

  I had the information needed, which would both satisfy and terrify Reggie. On the one hand, I was pretty sure Switch hadn’t sent the blackmail note. I mean, yes the guy had the money for the high quality paper stock and likely had someone on staff who was trained in calligraphy. But if he’d known Reggie’s story all this time, why hadn’t Switch made life miserable for my friend before now?

  Which brought me to the other hand. I wasn’t so sure I should share the part about the former gang leader turned high-class goods distributor being aware of Reggie’s entire ruse. Well, maybe not the entire ruse. Switch still thought his former protégé was gay.

  I really needed to get my script straight before talking to my friend over this whole tidbit.

  So with that realization, I once again faced a very short list of blackmailer candidates. With sketchy present actions combined with her career contacts, Lorraine continued to top the list. If I hoped to accomplish much more before reporting to work Wednesday night, tomorrow’s lunch and shopping excursion with Mom would have to be cut short.

  And after skipping out on her last week and shortening our visit this week, she would not be happy.

  My cell phone dinged with an incoming text just as I pulled into the garage. At this late hour, there were only a handful of people it might be. Janine needing to vent
? Grady with an emergency at the bar? Oh, I hoped not. After fishing the phone from my purse, the surprise sender made my heart tick up a notch and a smile tug at my lips. Radioman.

  Custom dictates 24 hrs B4 contact after first date. I waited 24.1 2 say looking 4ward 2 seeing U soon.

  In the excitement as I focused on replying, I failed to see the wall of man standing in the shadows until I plowed right into him. The only thing I heard as he clamped a hand over my mouth to stop the scream was my phone shattering across the asphalt.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I twisted in the vice-like grip and bit down hard on a misplaced finger before bringing my knee up to connect with that oh-so-delicate and usually flaccid spot between the legs of the male persuasion.

  And trust me, I could be very persuasive with my life on the line.

  Here’s another tip, ladies. Being a single woman on her own in a big city, it is important to carry either a can of pepper spray or take self-defense classes. There’s also conceal carry, though some people have trouble pointing a gun at another human being, much less possessing the ovaries necessary to actually pull the trigger. Having dated a Texas Ranger, you can imagine which one of those choices I’d picked. Actually, I’d chosen all three – or had them forced upon me.

  If your purse is like mine, pepper spray can be difficult to access at a moment’s notice. Plus, its effectiveness isn’t always guaranteed. Unlike a bullet. For some, the idea of taking a life, even in self-defense, is something they couldn’t live with. Me? When it came right down to it in a mugging or attempted rape, it was either me or him – and I’ll be damned if it was me. You just needed the mental fortitude under pressure to remember to remove the safety.

  Only problem with carrying a gun in your purse is the same as pepper spray – it gets lost in the muddle of wallet, checkbook, keys, lipstick, powder, emergency underwear for those unexpected sleepovers, condoms, etc.

  Or you fail to put it inside your purse in the first place.

  Since tonight’s excursion involved visiting a person of questionable character, who probably wouldn’t have let me within ten inches of his person without the requisite pat-down Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary had provided, I’d wisely left it in my closet.

  When my knee made the connection, the perpetrator released me and fell to his knees with a loud umph before I fished the pepper spray from my purse and doused him good before sprinting into my building and up the stairs two at a time. My hands shook so bad I could barely hold onto the keys to let myself in before slamming the door shut and throwing every bolt, chain and the proverbial kitchen sink at it.

  Right about the time I planned to call the police, I remembered my one and only phone lay in pieces on the pavement.

  Down the stairs.

  Outside.

  Oh, hell-to-the-huh-uh. No way was I going back out there. The only other option was to run downstairs and knock on Jimmy-the-Super’s door and ask to use his. Similar problem though. I’d stay inside my fortress and scream my lungs inside out before venturing into the hallway tonight. Or ever again.

  Wait a minute. Jimmy had all of that surveillance crap in his apartment. Cameras all over the building – and scanning the parking lot. Maybe he’d seen us and was calling the cops at this very moment. Perhaps he was even on the way upstairs to check on me to make sure I was okay.

  Knocks pounded on the door as if we’d had a telepathic connection. My savior had come to rescue me.

  Or the attempted rapist had followed me. That thought sent all the blood draining from my head, and left me in a fear-filled daze before self-preservation kicked in. I raced to the bedroom closet and grabbed my Sig Sauer P938 from the case, flicking off the safety and chambering a round with trembling hands before inching toward the door.

  Now most people in the south would call out a friendly who is it before checking the window or peephole and opening the door when someone knocked or rang the doorbell. But in this case calling out only lets the bad guy know you are home, are female, and approximately where you are located in the apartment.

  Personally, I’d rather just shoot the bastard through the door and be done with it, though authorities might look down on that if I didn’t at least check the peephole first. That’s why God invented peepholes in the first place, I guess.

  I just never in my wildest imagination – or at least in my current scaredy-cat state – expected to see that particular face at my door.

  It took all of two seconds to release every bolt and chain and open the door to a slightly stooped, watery red-eyed familiar mug. Anger and irritation rolled off him in waves as he eyed the gun in my hand. Or maybe that was from the residual scent of pepper spray.

  “You gonna shoot me now too?” he rasped before coughing overtook his voice.

  “I should after you scared me half to death, Zeke Taylor,” I yelled. “What the hell are you doing sneaking around my parking lot at this late hour?”

  He didn’t, or more likely couldn’t, answer and simply handed me the pieces of my dead phone. So I did what any self-respecting southern woman would do with her ex-boyfriend slash would-be attacker.

  Invited him inside. At least in this case it was warranted since I imagine Zeke hadn’t meant any harm. And he’s law enforcement. No need to call the cops now.

  After setting the gun on the counter and steadying him on a barstool, I soaked several kitchen towels with cold water for eye compresses and gave Zeke a glass of water. Slinky peered out from beneath the sofa, sniffed the air and sneezed from the fetching aroma of eau d’ pepper spray before scurrying away to the bedroom. My eyes watered from the stench too. Gee, do you think I may have overdone the protective hose down more than a little?

  Don’t answer that.

  Once Zeke breathed a little more freely and his eyes grew a bit less rheumy, I laid into him with the full force of my freaked-out evening.

  “You have ten seconds to explain what you’re doing here, Ranger Taylor.”

  With his eyes still red and puffy, I couldn’t tell if he was glaring or just staring. “Or what?”

  “Or…or…,” I hesitated before grabbing the Sig. “Or I just might start shooting and ask questions later.”

  The pepper spray had temporarily incapacitated his sight and breathing but had done nothing to stunt his reflexes. With a lightning-fast move, Zeke disarmed me, flicked the safety back on, then shoved my weapon into his waistband as he stood.

  “I’ve had just about enough of your antics tonight,” he grumbled. “You wanna have a question and answer bout? How about you tell me what the hell you were doing at the home of a known drug dealer?”

  It took a moment for brain waves to trigger and stop the muscles in my lower jaw from swinging loose. “How did you…?”

  “Know you were there?” Zeke finished for me. “Tomas Ricardo has been on the radar of every state and federal law enforcement agency this side of the Mexican border.”

  “But how did you know?” I clarified.

  “Really? Did you not pay one iota of attention to my job while you were living with me?”

  “Five weeks is hardly enough time to…”

  “I’m talking before,” Zeke thundered. “Back when we actually used to talk. When we dated. Before you…”

  It was Zeke’s turn to clam up as he shoved a hand through his hair, picked up the water glass and walked to the windows.

  “Before I what?” I prompted.

  “Forget it,” he muttered, taking a drink and dabbing at his eyes before staring into the night. “Just something else you’ll misinterpret.”

  Now the boy had my dander up – and after I’d helped nurse him back to health. Well, after I’d first hosed him, that is.

  “Before I what?” I demanded. “Before I discovered who you really are? Before I found you with your arms around another woman?”

  “See that’s what I’m talking about,” Zeke said, spinning around to face me. “You see one little thing and blow it completely out of proportion?�
��

  Oh huh-uh. He. Did. Not. “Out of proportion? You were making out with another woman. That evil, back-stabbing, lowlife Lorraine Padget, no less.”

  “Hugging does not constitute making out.”

  “That’s what I saw.”

  Zeke slammed the glass down and sloshed water across the island counter. “How can a woman like you be such a completely irrational female at the same time?”

  Irrational? That was one toe shy of outright calling me stupid – just like I knew he would. I stomped over to the front door, undid all of the doohickeys, then opened it wide.

  “Get out,” I commanded.

  Zeke stood his ground with a cock of an eyebrow.

  “Get. Out,” I reiterated.

  We entered a staring contest – and I was in it to win it – until Zeke relented by placing my Sig in a drawer at the far end of the kitchen island. In three strides he stood beside me. He still reeked of pepper spray, but I wasn’t about to allow my senses to react. I have some self-control, after all.

  Stop laughing.

  “Whatever you’re doing, Vic, stay out of it,” Zeke said, his voice softening. “Next time I might not be there to protect you…or your best friend.”

  I winced. Taking Janine for moral support had been just plain dumb. I slammed the door behind him in frustration then leaned against it with a sigh. The logical side of my brain told me Zeke was just looking out for me – and that he was probably right. In more ways than one.

  But you didn’t hear that from me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Aren’t you hungry, sweetheart?”

  Mom prodded me with the overused endearment as she sipped tea from the dainty china cup then nestled it on the saucer. Out of desperation, I’d convinced her lunch would be best consumed and digested within the air-conditioned comfort of her favorite bistro instead of our usual locale at one of the patio tables. That meant a confined crowd and noisier environment, two things she didn’t relish, but also a relatively glisten-free meal – a bonus considering the thermometer prediction topping out near a hundred and twelve.